


Un. Deux. Trois.

by Alramech



Category: Rainbow Six Siege - Fandom, Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Pre-Canon, Slight fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alramech/pseuds/Alramech
Summary: Olivier is nervous. It’s been a long time since his parents kicked him out of the house closed off contact. But Olivier is hopping he can prove to them that he’s changed a lot since then.





	Un. Deux. Trois.

Un. Deux. Trois.

Olivier straightened the black suit jacket that Chaplain Bertrand had helped him pick out before wiping his hands on his brand new pair of jeans. Olivier slid his hand into his pocket to reassure himself that it was still in his pocket. The feel of the faux leather case he had bought gave him a bit of comfort as he walked up the driveway. The sound of his footsteps was a comforting rhythm in contrast to the anxiety he would face at the door. With each step, however, Olivier became more and more nervous. Once he reached the doorway of the grand house in front of him, he could do nothing but stare at the familiar, elegant door. His breathing seized and his lungs constricted. Olivier then began to count, something Bertrand had suggested after the Chaplain had found him in a state of disarray.

One. Two. Three.

With his breathing under control, he finally worked up enough courage to knock; three short raps that emanated loudly. The door opened. His sister. His sister stared at the man with eyes a warm shade of green. Said man would have been completely unrecognizable had she not known he was coming. His shoulders we back and his hands were clasped behind his back. He was stiff yet composed as if he was prepared for a negative greeting. But with a small smile, Sophie opened the door wide and stepped to the side, gesturing for him to enter.

Her tone of voice was polite and composed as she spoke in their native tongue. Sophie gestured to the formal living space that was reserved for guests and greetings. And then she was gone, having left the foyer to summon their parents and to where Olivier remembered the formal living room and the kitchen was located. Releasing the breath he was holding, Olivier made his way to one of the couches. He sat down and took out the leather case from his pocket. The longer he sat on the couch, however, the worse he began to feel.

Eins. Zwei. Drei.

Doubt crept into his head like a creature of the dark. When it struck, Olivier felt like he was unable to breathe; like someone had his lungs gripped in their hands and squeezed every bit of air from them. He nearly choked from the pressure and stress but steeled himself as to not give any visible indication as to how he was feeling. He leaned forward slightly, putting most of his weight on his legs as dropped his head into his hands.

Um. Dois. Três.

Leaning back to slouch, Olivier brought his shaking hands to his face and closed his eyes. He released a breathe one more, lowering his hands until they sat as still as Olivier could manage in his lap. Reaching his hand into his pocket, he pulled out the small leather case once more. He palmed the object until the sound of people entering the room shook him out of his stupor. He shot up to his feet, back stiff and feet together in a way that practically screamed military training. He shoved his hands and the item back into his pockets and put on an icy facade that Olivier has used far too often. Although his heart slammed the walls of his chest wildly to a rhythmless beat and his chest constricted with an unimaginable force, he forced his cool exterior.

Một. Hai. Ba.

His father stood tall, as always, though he held himself tall rather than the military posture that Olivier himself utilized. His face looked worn with age as he possessed some wrinkles and a decent amount of gray hair, however, Olivier could guarantee he had yet to retire. His father's steel blue eyes met Olivier's own gray orbs; all of his training told him not to look away. It told him to establish his command. The child inside of him eventually caused him to bow out of the staring contest. Though he is a soldier and he would rather fall in battle than back down, the man in front of him was his father. And the constant presence beside him, his mother.

Uno. Dos. Tres.

His mother. She had always been the embodiment of elegance and poise. Those warm blue eyes raked him up and down, appearing to be searching for something. Age had been kind to her, though Olivier was able to deduce that she had bowed out of the medical field, unlike her husband. Aside from a few small wrinkles here and there, his mother looked almost exactly like she did the day he had left. The day he had been kicked out.

Один. Два. Три.

The silence would have been loud enough to wake all of France with the tension that was strung between them. With clammy hands, Oliver slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the leather box. He took a deep breath and took a small, calculated step forward. Reaching out his hand slowly to grab his father's wrist, Olivier turned his father's hand so the palm was facing up before placing the object in his father's hand. Olivier then took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back, the inside of his cheek raw with how much he has been biting it. Olivier's father slowly opened the small box in his hand but made no move to retrieve the object from its place, nestled in the case. His mother, however, let out an audible intake of air once she saw the contents of the box.

"Olivier..." she whispered, surprised by the object. With a light hand, she gingerly retrieved the delicate item. While the leather box was new, the object inside was quite the opposite. It was round and made of silver with gold accents. On one face was an ornate cross design in gold as well, while the chain that was attached to the round centerpiece was silver to match a majority of the old antique. The item was Olivier's great-grandfather's pocket watch, one that was passed down to through each generation until Olivier nicked it from his father's study. While his parents had assumed he had taken it, they had also assumed that he had sold the priceless heirloom or destroyed it. Everyone was silent, and the silence had once more become deafening.

"Bertrand," Sophie began. "He was the man who set this up, correct?" She was obviously trying to get Olivier to talk. While he was physically standing in front of them, it was clear he was not the same. Olivier nodded before clearing his throat.

Uno. Due. Tre.

"He is a Chaplain," he nodded, his voice much more gravely and far more mature sounding than it once was. "...as well as the person who helped me return to the Church," Olivier continued, looking away from his parents for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. His parents stayed silent, likely in shock.

"...Chaplain?" Olivier's father spoke at last.

"Yes," Olivier confirmed, voice gaining strength. "After you... After that... I joined the military. I needed a purpose. I needed to do something," he finished, trying to find the right words.

"So you decided your purpose was to kill people?" His father spoke once more after a while with a bit of animus. "To become a mindless slave?"

"No!" He spat out quickly before realizing his outburst and regaining composure. "No. As a member of the CBRN and GIGN, my goal is to stop those with the intent of harming others by using biohazards and chemicals," Olivier explained with a level tone of voice. "I just arrived back from Sudan where I helped deal with the Yellow Fever. I'm sure you've heard of it." Olivier stared into his father's eyes, daring him to argue with his choice of career. Thankfully, his father backed down, seeming to be appeased by how he pushed the fact that he stops people from hurting others in addition to the biohazard bit.

Olivier's mother walked forward and placed a gentle hand to his cheek and jaw. She brushed her thumb across his cheek a few times before pulling him into a hug. Olivier was quickly filled with the presence of warmth and comfort that had been absent most of his life.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, clutching to his mother as tears slid down his face. "I'm so sorry..."

"It is alright," she soothed as his lungs seized and his breathing stuttered abruptly. Olivier's father then chose to place a hand on his son's shoulder, a look of sorrow and joy on his face as he joined his wife's celebration of this bittersweet reunion.

Un. Deux. Trois.


End file.
